


Putting the Pieces Back Together

by butterflybaby91



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Sad, Shooting, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflybaby91/pseuds/butterflybaby91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's dead, someone's close to dead, and Enjolras is at his wits end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only Mostly Dead

It had been hours since he had found her lying on the bathroom floor, cold, unmoving, a bottle of pills lying a few inches from her hand, looking as if she had dropped it when she passed out. Enjolras almost passed out at the sight as he stumbled into the bathroom after another late night at work.

            He had come into the apartment and dropped his bag by the door, calling out her name as he moved through the rooms looking for her. When he found her, he dropped to his knees and began shaking her, calling out her name. When she did not respond in the slightest, he fumbled for her wrist and searched and searched for a pulse. Feeling the faintest of quivers he pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1.

            The paramedics had arrived shortly after and practically had to pry his hands off her body as they strapped her to a gurney and begin their attempts to revive her. None of which appeared to be working. He had gone to the hospital with them in the ambulance, staring blankly at the paramedics as they hooked her up to oxygen and attempted to keep her alive so that they could do whatever they needed to do to bring her back to a world that she clearly did not want to be in anymore.

            Now, sitting in the emergency room waiting area, Enjolras had his head in his hands, fingers desperately gripping his hair as he waited and waited to hear _anything_. When they had reached the hospital, he had come out of whatever trance he had been in for the majority of the time since he had found her. Now all he was doing was thinking _why_. What had happened that caused her to want to do this. He had thought she was happy with him—with her life with him. He knew of her past—of the beatings and alcohol abuse. He had seen the bruises, cuts, and eventually broken bones, over the years, that had been given to her by her father and then by that foul man she had been with before him.

            But that was all years in the past. When she was with him, she had been carefree and happy. Her skin had eventually healed and all visible reminders of the past were long gone. She had stopped drinking so much. She had not seen her family in years. He knew there were still nightmares and panic attacks, but those had become few and far between. He also knew that she still worried about her brother’s well being, but with Gavroche being in college now, most of her worry had been abated. He had thought she was _okay_. He had been terribly, terribly wrong.

            Eventually, over the hours he sat there, waiting, as his friends came one, by one, to sit in silent sentinel at his side, the why’s turned to how’s. How could she do this to herself, to her brother, to all their friends, to _him_? Did she not realize how much they loved her, how much they needed her? She mattered too much to all of them—she mattered too much to him. He pushed the thoughts of “ _what am I going to do without her”_ out of his head—it had not come to that yet—he had to have hope, because right now he had nothing else.

When wallowing in his guilt and grief became too much, he turned to Combeferre, who was seated next to him. Seeing the look and the tears on his friend’s face, Combeferre reached a hand out and grasped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Enjolras was grateful that he did not try to comfort him more or speak promises that he could not keep. He glanced around at his friends, grateful to all of them for being there for him—for her. But he frowned when he realized someone was missing.

“Has anyone told Gavroche?” he muttered to Combeferre. He hated the idea of telling the boy that his sister was just barely clinging to life, but he knew it had to be done—Gavroche should be there in case---; Enjolras shuddered—he could not finish that thought.

Combeferre shook his head, “We haven’t been able to get a hold of him,” he told Enjolras, his grief stricken expression matching how Enjolras felt about what they would do with a desolate Gavroche—she was the boy’s only reliable, loving family member.

Just then Combeferre’s phone rang. Enjolras was barely aware, as he fished it out of his pocket and answered it with a quick and quiet, “Hello?” But he did take note as Combeferre let out an anguished “What?” and listened to whatever the other person was saying, with his mouth hanging open and tears forming on his face.

Enjolras stared at his friend as he waited to be informed of what was going on and the ball of fear and anxiety in his stomach grew even larger, to the point that he felt like he could not breathe. He was gasping for air, when a stricken Combeferre, robotically hung up the phone and looked at Enjolras.

“What is it?” Enjolras managed to croak.

“That was Gavroche’s roommate—I called him earlier when I was trying to get reach Gavroche,” Combeferre breathed, tears streaming silently down his face, “Gavroche was shot earlier today when he went home to visit his parents for some reason,” Combeferre broke down into sobs then, something Enjolras had never seen his usually calm and collected friend do. Enjolras, himself, felt the tears he had been shedding for hours renew as he thought of her little brother in pain and not having his big sister able to come to his side.

“Where is he? Is he going to be okay?” Enjolras gasped, reaching out to shake Combeferre, needing confirmation that Gavroche, at least, was going to make it.

Combeferre reached out and touched Enjolras’ face and the sickening feeling swelling inside of him took over as Combeferre informed him, “He’s dead Enjolras—his roommate said Eponine was informed earlier this afternoon.”

Enjolras sat there in shocked despair as he thought of his brave, but so broken, Eponine receiving the news that the person that mattered to her most in the world, even more than him, was gone, so suddenly and senselessly. He broke down again. Enjolras and Combeferre clutched each other as their other friends, realizing something else was terribly wrong, circled them. Combeferre was able to finally tell them what had happened and soon the whole group was a mess around Enjolras. But Enjolras ceased his crying quickly and just sat there staring and waiting again. He shut down and stopped thinking. It was all too much.

He only became aware of the doctor calling his name when Combeferre shook him lightly. Getting up, he stumbled over to the door, that lead to the rest of the hospital, and the doctor who had a grim, pitying expression on his face. Enjolras could barely process what was happening, but he pushed Combeferre and Grantaire away as they tried to follow him.

“Enjolras?” the doctor asked him and Enjolras nodded, “Come with me,” he said and began walking briskly down the hall.

Enjolras was too scared to even voice the question that was screaming in his head, so he just followed the doctor down the too bright hallway that smelled too sharply of antiseptic. The doctor stopped in front of a room with a closed door, from which Enjolras could hear a steady, but widely spaced, series of beeps emanating.

“We have done everything we could do. She’s alive, but only just,” as those words hit Enjolras he felt his knees about to give out and he had to clutch at the wall to remain standing, “She’s in a coma right now, but we think there’s only a 5% chance her surviving, so we thought we had better give you some time alone with her,” the doctor finished speaking, as if Enjolras’ world was not crumbling around him, and gestured toward the door, like it was much too normal for him to be telling Enjolras to go in and say good-bye to his unconscious, dying girlfriend.

When Enjolras did not move, the doctor opened the door and gently led him inside and placed him on a chair next to her bed. He did not look at her right away, but when he finally managed to drag his eyes up from the linoleum tile on the floor to the small, frail, body lying on the bed, the tears began anew.

Eponine was pale and her skin looked papery thin. Her chest slowly, almost imperceptibly, rose and fell every few seconds, but Enjolras could tell that it was too shallow, too slow; her body not getting nearly enough air. She was hooked up to countless wires making her look unnatural and scary. He surged forward and grasped her hand in both of his and buried his head on the hospital bed, crying and begging her not to leave him.

As he had his head obscured in her hand, the heart monitor machine spluttered, and Eponine’s heart beat rapidly for a few seconds before he heard the sickening sound of a flat line. Enjolras felt his own heart stop at that and immediately the room was swarmed by nurses and doctors and he was pushed to the side as they tried to revive her yet again.

Enjolras could only watch and know that it was too late. He knew she did not want to live in a world where she could not protect her brother. She was gone and he could just lean against the wall and watch as the little color that had remained began fading from her cheeks and he felt his world crashing down around him. He followed soon after, passing out on the floor of the hospital room, unable to face anymore what was going on. But as his head hit the cold, unforgiving, hard tile, and the world went dark, the last thing he heard was the sound of faint beeps starting up again. 


	2. Only Mostly Alive

It had been several months since Gavroche’s death and Eponine’s attempt at suicide. Enjolras and Eponine had both missed the funeral. Which, after consideration, Enjolras figured was probably a blessing because, according to the rest of their friends who had gone, the funeral had been a mockery. The Thenardiers had eluded faux grief, dramatically sobbing and talking about their great poverty to try and elicit even more sympathy. There had been no real memorial for Gavroche, no service, just a viewing and some prayers hastily read by his gravesite. All of their friends had left feeling like the whole thing was a great disservice to Gavroche, who had been such a great, promising young man; one who had escaped the shackles of poverty and was honestly working his way through the world. All of Eponine’s friends had watched the boy grow up. He had slept over at all of their apartments one time or another and they had all been immensely fond of him. They had decided immediately, that when Eponine got out of the hospital and therapy, they would have a proper memorial for him, if she could handle it.

As it was, they were all walking on egg shells around her. After Enjolras had passed out from grief when her heart stopped beating, he had hit his head and gotten a concussion. The doctors had wanted to keep him for observation and to keep an eye on his mental state as well. Luckily, they had been fine with his friends’ suggestion of putting him in a bed next to Eponine’s, so Enjolras had woken up to a conscious Eponine, which relieved him immensely. It was only after that initial relief that he realized the direness of the situation:

_When he opened his eyes, he groggily blinked and looked around him, trying to remember where he was. He was lying on a hard mattress, covered by thin, warmth-less blankets. He felt tubes and wires attached to his hands and his legs felt unusually bare. Before he could truly figure out where he was, he heard a sniffle next to him and turned abruptly. That motion caused his head to spin and he had to shut his eyes to try and dispel the circles that began forming in his vision. After a second, he opened his eyes, and he was staring into a pair of familiar brown eyes. They were familiar, in the coloring—brown with flecks of gold and gray, the thick lashes that framed them, and the unruly caterpillar eyebrows that threatened to take them over, but at the same time they were quite foreign. They were missing the spark of laughter and happiness that usually occupied them. It was replaced with dullness, like the person whom they belonged to was barely there and their soul had no tethers to their body._

_It was then that he remembered: the heart-wrenching sound of a solid, unbroken beep, and the press of doctors trying to push life back into where it did not want to be. He remembered falling into a dark abyss of nothingness, on the edges of which he managed to grasp onto the renewed, faint beep, beep, beep, of a heart fighting against itself and starting up again._

_Now here she was—staring at him. Alive, breathing, but not really there. Her eyes blinked when she realized he was watching her and her lips curled into a smile, but it did not touch her eyes and was more than forced._

_“You’re awake,” she said to him, flatly, like she barely cared._

_“So are you,” he replied carefully, repressing the urge to reach out and touch her and assure himself that she really was there and awake and alive, until he could see what she would do. So instead he just casually added, “You had us scared for a while there,” like she had not ripped his heart out of his chest and left it lying there on the bathroom floor next to her unconscious body._

_He broke through to her with that and she briefly grimaced before carefully masking her expression again, “Sorry about that,” she muttered, “I’m not sure what caused me to do that,” she told him, like she had just accidently dropped a glass of milk, not tried to kill herself to follow after her brother._

_Not being able to help himself, he reached out and brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. He withdrew his hand when she flinched and instead tried to verbally express himself, which for once, he found to be incredibly difficult, “You don’t have to be brave,” he tried to convey to her. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms, but she did not seem to want that, so he clenched his fists at his side and just watched her internal struggle._

_She shook her head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just made a mistake, okay?” She gave him a look that he knew would be a glare if she did not seem to be so empty. It was like all her emotions had been drained from her in her brush with death and now she was just a shell of the vivid, gleaming girl she once was. So empty, that she could not even get angry at him, or herself, or the world._

_“Eponine,” he said and the tone he in which he said her name caused her to jerk and meet his eye, “We all know. We all know why this happened. We’re going to be here for you. We’ll get through it together,” he assured her and as he did, he noticed her façade slipped again and her gaze turned into one of terror at the almost direct reminder of her loss, so he could not help but pull her into his arms, trying to be gentle and avoid messing with any of the wires that still connected her to multiple machines._

_He had a brief couple of seconds of being able to cherish her warm body in his arms. He took in her heart beat thumping against his own and her chest rising and falling. He felt her cool breath tickle his collar bone and felt her hand reach out and grasp his hip bone with enough force to meld it to her, before she let go and pushed him away angrily._

_“No. You don’t, none of you, can understand. You can’t,” she seethed to him, eyes blazing with anger, **finally** , salty water droplets forming in the corners of her eyes, and he thought, if he could just keep her like this; angry, pushing him away, but **feeling** , then she would be alright. But as soon as the outburst happened, it was gone and she was flat and empty and barely there again. _

And she had remained like that. After he had been discharged from the hospital, Enjolras had practically grown roots in her room. He slept in the chair by her bed most nights. He talked to her constantly throughout the day. He had Combeferre bring her her favorite books. Grantaire snuck her in Chipotle. Courfeyrac would come by everyday and joke with her and try to make her laugh. Cosette came by frequently and painted her nails or braided her hair and just chattered. Nothing worked, nothing seemed to help. Eponine read the books, ate the food, listened politely, and let people do with her what they would, but her eyes remained dull and far away, she never put up a fight, and she never so much as cracked a smile. No one mentioned Gavroche and she did not bring him up. And that terrified Enjolras.

She was just as distant with him. She let him sit there and grip her hand, run his fingers through her hair, kiss her. She even kissed him back, but it was all robotic. It was like he had lost her, even though he had not. He would not let her out of his sight, because he knew she was far from better. He was terrified that the terrible night he found her in the bathroom would be repeated and he clung to her, trying desperately to selfishly bind her to the earth with him.    

In spite of her emotional state, her body was heeling. She was going to therapy sessions and discussing the whys of what had happened that night with others, but Enjolras had no idea what she was actually telling them. The doctors said she was going to be able to come home soon. That should have made him happy. To have her back in their apartment and try to rebuild their lives, but he was so unsure. At home, he would not be able to constantly make sure she was alive. She could go into another room, he would have to leave; any number of things could happen.

Also, he was not sure if she wanted to come home. Their apartment held so many memories of Gavroche. The boy had stayed there, with them, many times over the course of the past year they had lived in the apartment. Most weekends he would be there, curled up on the couch next to Eponine, as they ate out of a carton of ice cream, watched crappy movies, and eventually feel asleep curled up together, before Enjolras would wake them both and make them go to bed properly.

The one time Enjolras had gone back to the apartment since Eponine had been in the hospital, he had been suffocated by the boy’s presence in the apartment. He had wandered languidly around, touching a blanket here, a forgotten sock there, that Gavroche had left the last time he had been there. It had been too much. He had ended up curled on the couch, sobbing for everything Eponine had lost. It had only been when Grantaire, who had stayed at the hospital when Enjolras had stepped out, had called to ask what was taking him so long, that Enjolras had managed to remind himself that he had to pull himself together and be strong for Eponine’s sake.

He could only imagine what it would be like for her to be in that apartment with so many cherished memories.

As he watched her now, from his place in the chair at her bedside, he searched desperately for any hint of emotion—any small sign that she wanted to be here. But he could find none. She just stared listlessly into space, barely even aware he was in the room. If the night he had found her, she had been, as the doctors had, said mostly dead, now that she was almost fully recovered, she was only mostly alive. Her body was here, but her soul yearned to be far away, skipping through the heavens with the brother she had held dear. He wondered what was even still keeping her here, grateful as he was that even that small part of her remained.

But, he knew that sooner or later something would change. This quiet, yet disturbing, path their lives had taken, since they had both woken up in hospital beds, side by side, could not go on forever. Sooner or later, she would have to break. And Enjolras knew there were only two directions in which she could go—either she would have to make a complete break with the world, as she had already tried to do, or she would have to face her fears and the pains of the reality of her life and that would hit her like a gale force wind. At this point, Enjolras was not sure which option frightened him more. 


	3. A Long Road Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They just might be okay

The day Enjolras had been concurrently dreading and waiting for had finally arrived—Eponine was coming home. He had sent several of their friends over to their apartment the day before to do a sweep of the place, and make sure anything that could trigger bad memories was tucked out of sight, and to clean the place up a bit as it had not really been occupied for months.

            Eponine was still acting like she was underwater. He knew that someone looking at her with an outside perspective might not notice it. She smiled when her friends came in, she talked to Enjolras constantly, and she was eating and physically looking better day by day. But he knew better.

            He could not even look her in the eye anymore, because what he saw petrified him. While the rest of her had healed, more or less, her eyes were dull and flat. She would stare back at him blankly, even while the rest of her face tried to contort into a smile. He did not leave her side, even at night, and he knew she continued to sleep fitfully—the dark shadows under her eyes only confirmed it.

            Whenever they spoke, it always felt like she was trying too hard to be normal. Like she was putting on a front, an unnecessary front, that she was all right, which just made him want to shake her and scream _“It’s not all right. Your brother died. It’s okay to be sad,”_ and make sure she understood, _“You don’t have to hide it from me.”_ He was too scared of sending her over the edge again to do that though. The fact that she felt she had to hide how she was feeling, even from him, made him unspeakably sad.

So their conversations had dwindled down to only the very rudimentary topics in the past weeks. The only words he had spoken to her today were to inquire if she was done with her breakfast so he could get a nurse to take it away. Besides that they had just sat in silence, Eponine staring into space from whatever world she was occupying, and Enjolras staring unseeingly at the television, occasionally sneaking worried glances at Eponine as he was wont to do nowadays.

            They were just sitting and waiting for Grantaire and Courfeyrac to show up, as they were driving the pair back to their apartment, Enjolras having long ago left his car at home, in favor of having his friends drive him back and forth the few times he had returned home. He never voiced it to them, but he let them drive him out of fear of ever being alone in that apartment again. But, he was going to basically be alone there today. Grantaire and Courfeyrac could only hang around so long. With the show Eponine was putting on, she would not want them acting like she anything but perfectly fine. Enjolras had to repress a shudder at the thought of the long, dark, silent night ahead of him, trying to get Eponine to open up and somehow pull through this.

            But then, Grantaire and Courfeyrac were there and they were picking up Eponine’s packed bags and Grantaire had an arm around Eponine as the four of them listened to the nurse explain the procedures they needed to stick to for Eponine’s medication. Enjolras was grateful that his friends were there to help him take everything in, because he was only half paying attention.

            The short ride back to Eponine and Enjolras’ apartment was quiet. Eponine did not talk and no one else felt like trying to make conversation and hear the fake cheeriness that everyone’s voice would most likely contain. Enjolras knew Courfeyrac and Grantaire were just as aware as he was of the fact that Eponine was far from better. Any cheery conversation would be a slap in the face of all that had changed. So, the only sound was the soft music playing from Courfeyrac’s radio. Eponine sat in the back seat squished in between Enjolras and Grantaire, who had insisted on sitting next to Eponine, in spite of Courfeyrac’s grumbles of having to play chauffer. She sat there between the two men, just staring out the front windshield, watching as they drew closer to the home she had not been to in months.

            Enjolras and Grantaire both watched her anxiously as Courfeyrac pulled into the parking lot, searching for any signs of distress, but she kept her expression perfectly blank and controlled. As Courfeyrac took the keys out of the ignition and opened the door, Grantaire’s eyes met Enjolras’ and Enjolras saw the scared expression he wore, reflected in Grantaire’s face.             

            Once upstairs, outside their door, Enjolras slowly unlocked the door and stood aside to let the other three in before him. Eponine pushed passed and into the apartment, stopping a few feet into the entry way, eyes scanning the living area. As Enjolras watched her search the apartment, he realized that her profile, with her shoulders tense and chin swiveling from side to side, showed more emotion than he had seen in weeks and he stopped to regard her hopefully.

            But then he realized—her eyes were searching the room as if looking for any sign that Gavroche was lurking somewhere in the shadows, ready to jump out and tell her that it had all been a terrible joke and he was fine and alive. But, as it became apparent that would not happen, he saw her shoulders slump the slightest bit and her jaw wavered. He reached out an arm to take hold of her as she broke, but then she had her careful mask up again and she was taking her suitcase from Courfeyrac and dragging it into the bedroom.

            The three men just stood in the front entryway, shaking their heads and looking at each other helplessly, unsure of what to do. Eventually Enjolras turned to his friends and said, “Thanks for driving us home, but would you mind leaving us alone for the night?” As much as he was afraid to be alone with the shell that was Eponine and the memory filled apartment, he thought he might have more luck getting through her hard exterior, alone, rather than with their other two friends.

            Courfeyrac and Grantaire nodded solemnly and went in to say goodbye to Eponine. She barely flinched when they said they were leaving. She awkwardly hugged them both and told them she would see them later.

            Then it was just Enjolras and Eponine standing alone together in their bedroom. Enjolras had his hands tucked away in his pockets to try and prevent himself from doing something rash that would only throw Eponine farther into her head and Eponine just started methodically unpacking her suitcase again.

            Finally, Enjolras slowly walked up behind her and brushed his hand against her shoulder, which caused Eponine to stiffen. Enjolras felt sick as he took note of her deer-in-the-headlights expression, but he pushed the thoughts aside and quietly asked, “What would you like to do for dinner?”

            Eponine turned ever so slightly toward him and he was met with her ghost eyes as she sullenly replied, “Whatever you want,” and went back to her unpacking. Enjolras sighed and left her alone while he went to search for a take-out menu.

            It was while he was on the phone with the Chinese place that he heard it. He paused in the middle of ordering, trying to focus on what sounded like whimpers coming from the bedroom. As he listened they became muffled, as if Eponine had shoved her head into a pillow. His heart began racing and fear built up in his stomach as he curtly said, “Never mind I have to go,” to the person on the phone and then dropped his phone to the counter in his hurry to get to the bedroom.

            Cautiously, Enjolras cracked the door open and peaked in, not sure of what he would find. What he saw was exactly what he had been hoping for, for _months,_ but it also made him incredibly sad. He surged through the door and into the room, where Eponine lay curled up on the bed, pressing a pillow to her face to stifle the sobs that were ripping from her throat. Her body was shaking uncontrollably and she was clutching a book in her hand.

            Enjolras sat down next to her on the bed and tentatively reached a hand out to lightly run up and down her side. He gulped back his own tears that threatened to overflow at seeing her so distraught. Even through the despair, relief washed over him at her show of grief—it was much too long in coming. “Hey,” he cooed, wanting desperately to hold her in his arms, to hold her together as she accepted that her world had fallen apart. He moved to take the book out of her hand to look at it, but she yanked it out of his way and looked up through a tear stain glare at him, “What is this?” he asked, indicating the novel.

            Eponine choked on another sob and shook her head, unable to answer, but to his surprise she threw herself at Enjolras and wrapped her arms around his waist, knocking the book into his back. He crushed her to his chest, finally letting the tears fall as well and they cried together, mourning all that had come to pass. Through the tears and pain, Enjolras felt the atmosphere that had surrounded them, shift and imperceptibly lighten, and he suddenly felt like he had a reason to hope—that it was all going to be okay in the end. She was _grieving._ She was still there. This warm body, convulsing and clinging to him, was not just an empty shell of the girl he loved after all.Upon this realization, Enjolras managed to quiet his tears and sat leaning against the wall, rocking Eponine back and forth until her tears silenced into whimpers and the whimpers ceased as she fell into a restless slumber.

             As he watched her sleep, Enjolras felt more at ease than he had in all the months that she had been in the hospital. She had finally, _finally_ grieved for Gavroche, or at least, begun too. He could only figure that the book she still clung to, like her hand was glued to it, had triggered the tears. Slowly, he reached behind him and managed to pry it out of her hand. Glancing at it, before placing it on the bed next to him, Enjolras recognized it as the book Gavroche had been reading the last night he had spent at their apartment. It would have been easily missed as their friends had combed the apartment for the boy’s things—no one would have known it was the boy’s; except his sister. Pain welled up in Enjolras’ stomach, so he pushed the book farther away and hugged Eponine more tightly and to his amazement, she murmured something in her sleep and snuggled closer to him. For the first time, since he had awoken to see her dead eyes staring at him, he felt that somehow, some way, they would make it through this together.

For the first time in months, a soft, but genuine smile graced his lips.          


End file.
